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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22922458">The Echo Of Death</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scarlet_Nin/pseuds/Red_Cross_Roads'>Red_Cross_Roads (Scarlet_Nin)</a>, <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scarlet_Nin/pseuds/Scarlet_Nin'>Scarlet_Nin</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>D.Gray-man</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Age Regression/De-Aging, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angsty teenagers with attitudes, Betrayal, Cross Marian's A+ Parenting, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Families of Choice, Finding a home despite wanting to burn it down, Gen, Growing Up Together, Heavy Angst, Kid Allen Walker, Kid Nea D. Campbell, Nea still has his memories, Or was it Nea?, Past!Allen messed up, Psychological Trauma, They're like 12 yrs old, Trust Issues, Whump, he is not amused</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-02-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-02-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 06:01:36</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,849</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22922458</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scarlet_Nin/pseuds/Red_Cross_Roads, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scarlet_Nin/pseuds/Scarlet_Nin</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Magic is as fickle as the emotions giving them power. A second of hesitation, the tiniest grain of doubt within would suffice in changing the intention of the spell. Because the most powerful energy in this world is the human soul and humans were creatures of selfishness. Allen was no different.</p><p>The night when Cross returns with a bleeding child dressed in rags in his arms the wind is silent.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Allen Walker &amp; Mana Walker, Nea D. Campbell &amp; Allen Walker, Nea D. Campbell &amp; Everyone, Nea D. Campbell &amp; Mana Walker, Nea D. Campbell &amp; Sennen Hakushaku | Millennium Earl</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>79</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>The wood beneath his feet is cold to touch as he paddles out the door into the kitchen where the shadow of flames lightened up the door which was slightly ajar. It creaks when he pushes it open with his fingers so he can slip through.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>The man was sleeping surrounded by bottles of wine. Arms used as pillow his face was shielded partly by the wild mane of red hair. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Allen tugs at his shirt. The man’s eyes snap open.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“What…” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>He falls silent when he sees him before his lips tug upwards into a crooked smile. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>“So, finally decided to stop moping?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Allen tightens his grip on the shirt causing it to wrinkle underneath his touch as he speaks the first time in a month aside from screaming his throat raw.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“He spoke.”</em>
</p>
<hr/><p>Rise and fall.</p><p>In and out.</p><p>He watches, careful not to take his eyes off in fear of missing even a single soft wheezing breath. His chair is pushed against the side of the bed where a boy lays under the covers, hands resting on the sheets skin as pale as the bandages wrapped around his head to his legs covering nearly all of his body. A wet cloth covers his forehead, partly laying over his eyes to shield him from the dim light of the bedroom and to cool down the rising heat of his fever. Timcanpy is nestled near the foot of the bed, one large wing resting over the boy’s legs as if to keep him warm, a protective act of ownership.</p><p>Allen’s eyes are drawn to the wrapped hand within his reach. He could reach out and hold it if he wanted to but touching others without permission is crossing a boundary he wants to respect. He keeps his hands in his lap, legs swinging as he’s perched on the edge of his seat, simply watching like Cross wanted him to while trying not to fall asleep.</p><p>The hand twitches a few times, sharp noises rubbing against the raw throat like sandpaper. He’d offer the boy the untouched glass of water sitting on the bedside table but he’s dead to the world in more ways than one. Tim shuffles closer in distress at the noises of pain as Allen wrings out the cloth and replaces it before leaning back to watch.</p><p>There’s nothing else he can do.</p>
<hr/><p>
  <em>Time passes without meaning for Allen as the flashes of that night repeat before his eyes. His limbs ache from where he’s cramped into one corner of the bed curled up like he can disappear if he tries hard enough to fade out of existence.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>He wants to die. He doesn’t understand why he isn’t already. Breathing hurts as if the air is made of shards of glass but he can’t stop on his own.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>So, he waits. For his body to give in, starve to death and end his misery. If he doesn’t eat or drink or move, he should die soon enough. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>He doesn’t want to live on his own. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>The sound of a raspy breath echoes across the room. Allen ignores it as he always does when the boy resting on the bed makes a noise because he doesn’t care. About the boy he doesn’t know, the people who try to help him or himself or anyone.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>But…</em>
</p><p>
  <em>The boy cries. Allen hadn’t seen him cry once despite his condition. But he does now.  In the throes of his fever tears start to stream down his cheeks soaking the pillow and the plaster on his right cheek hiding a nasty bruise. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Toes curling in the sheets a prickling sensation washes over Allen, who inches forward to get a better look. Faint blotches of pink stain the otherwise paperwhite skin. His bangs cling to his face and the nape of his neck, curling at the ends making the contrast between the dark hair and his pallor more prominent. What catches Allen’s attention isn’t his lack of health or the smell of blood.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>It’s the smile. Small and broken like his own heart. Full of longing and heartache turning the sight bittersweet. The smile of a dead man lost to the world.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>His chest twists at the sight, pulse fluttering as his eyes fall to the boy’s hand.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Slowly, Allen reaches out and takes the hand into his own. Clammy with cold sweat the fingers curl around his own as he squeezes. Once and then holds on as he sits next to him legs outstretched on the bed his back to the wall.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>The boy never cried. Not when Cross brought him in that night and sewed him back together with painful steady tugs of thread a bottle of wine sitting on the floor. At least Allen can’t remember he did. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>He doesn’t remember much aside from the cold numbing his head and the bleeding pain in his heart. Maybe he’ll bleed out like this boy would soon. Broken people couldn’t go on forever.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>The boy wheezes but Allen’s eyes are stuck on the wall, unseeing.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>He hears dry lips part, a shaky breath breaking to a whimper of pain as he holds on and braces himself for a scream, the mumbled nonsense of someone lost to his delusion.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“…Mana…”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Allen’s heart skips a beat.</em>
</p>
<hr/><p>The boy doesn’t wake up. Even when another day passes turning it into weeks, he remains silent, unmoving save for the occasional twitch or a furrowed brow. Blood stains some of the bandages turning them into a murky brown after time passes in slow choked breaths and keens speaking of a nightmare.</p><p>Allen stays. At his side sitting in a chair with Timcanpy guarding them, watching.</p><p>Always watching for a sign of consciousness and danger.</p><p>
  <em>“You’ll have to wait for him to wake up if you want answers.”</em>
</p><p>Want is too weak. He needs to know from where the boy knows that name before he can peacefully let death embrace him. With single-minded focus Allen watches over him. Days and nights. Never breaking contact until Cross forces him to.</p><p>Food is not important. Sleep is torturous. All he needs is an answer.</p><p>When his mind drifts, he wonders. Where the injuries came from. How despite them the boy clings to life as if its salvation instead of damnation. These thoughts pass because it’s none of his business and he’s better of not knowing.</p><p>That’s what Master Cross says to Mother when Allen hears them arguing in the kitchen.</p><p>Allen knows caring brings him nothing but pain, has the proof carved into his face. He doesn’t care about things beyond Mana.</p><p>
  <em>Mana, who he destroyed.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Mana with his smile and laughs.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Mana, who loved him.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Mana, whom Allen had loved so strongly, so fiercely with every fiber of his being.</em>
</p><p>The only important question is the connection to Mana.</p><p>“Who are you?”</p><p>The boy doesn’t answer. Neither had Cross when Allen had asked. So, Allen stopped asking anyone, stopped speaking altogether again because if he doesn’t get the answers he needs, there’s no point in talking no matter how angry the man became at the refusal.</p><p>
  <em>“…Mana…”</em>
</p><p>The boy doesn’t look older than Allen himself. So, how did he know Mana?</p><p>The first thought crossing Allen’s mind is the possibility of the boy being Mana’s child.</p><p>But Mana never mentioned having a child. Never spoke of a possible wife or woman he left behind or met and had loved enough to think of creating a family together. Even with him missing a large part of his life while insisting on being a teenager the possibility of a child seemed unlikely. Mana loved kids but never expressed wanting to have his own. When Mana spoke of family, he always spoke of one person only.</p><p>His brother.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>“You loved him that much, huh?”</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Allen doesn’t speak. Never would again, he decides, because all he wanted to do was scream. Scream until he lost his voice once again.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>“You’re killing yourself with your obsession.” </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Cross says holding Timcanpy in his lap as he looks at him with somber eyes. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>“Do you truly think this is what Mana would have wanted for you?”</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>“Mana…” </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Allen’s voice is hoarse with disuse as Cross leans forward.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>“—wanted his brother. Would have wanted him happy and safe.”</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>More than anything else. His brother was Mana’s lifeline just like he’d been Allen’s. So, Allen would make sure of it. Even if it killed him to look after the person who made Allen doubt his place in Mana’s heart.  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>“And he didn’t want that for you?”</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> Cross scoffs before closing his eyes. Misery seeks company so Allen isn’t surprised the man has picked up on his worsening mood the last few days. He takes a calming breath eyes flickering to the boy sleeping on the bed before his gaze turned to the ceiling. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>“Were those his last words to you, to look after him? Even if they were, which I don’t believe they are, you can honor someone and love them without destroying yourself in the process. There’s no shame in wanting to be your own person.”</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>There is. When Allen had been his own person, he had been unwanted. Alone. Even Mana had seen him for someone else, either his dog or his beloved little brother most of the time. No matter how much Allen wanted to be himself nobody else did.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>There had been no other option but to become someone else. Either someone who looked after what Mana had loved or to… </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>“Don’t you remember what he always used to say? Don’t stand still…always keep on walking.”</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Allen made a promise to Mana that much was true. To break it would mean his love to be less. But while Mana had loved his brother there was no one else Allen had loved more than the man himself. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Mana might not have loved him as much as his brother but Allen loved him enough to try to keep his memory and kindness alive.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Tears falling as he remembered the smile which saved him Allen bursts into tears.</em>
</p>
<p>Water runs hot beneath his hands. Allen feels the sting of the heat on his fingers as he turns the tap off. Steam is making the air stuffy as it shuts off with a creak of rusty metal.</p>
<p>Tim growls, splashing a bit of water from his place in the tub.</p>
<p>Allen flinches back, glad he’s shoved the ends of his sleeve up to his elbow so just his pants get wet. He shoots the oversized Golem a dirty look as he inches closer on his knees.</p>
<p>“I’ve never done this before, give me a break.”</p>
<p>Tim shows his teeth in a smile, careful in pressing up against the back of the boy.</p>
<p>Allen makes a face. “I’m not going to let him drown!”</p>
<p>Even if a part of him thinks he should and he hates himself for it. Envy tints his vision green. The first speck of color he’s seen in a long time beneath the dull grey of monochrome washing out the world. With constant reminders on his mind it’s hard to look at the boy and smile.</p>
<p>
  <em>He took me in because of you. Because he was searching for you, wasn’t he? Had he found you I’d be thrown aside. All alone.</em>
</p>
<p>It’s different from the times he’d seen parents and their children walk hand in hand. Different from all the times he wished for the food of other people, for the love of someone. Anyone, even a dog.</p>
<p>Because he had it, once but it wasn’t his own.</p>
<p>“It was yours.”</p>
<p>Allen hisses at the slumped form sitting in the water, bare save for his underwear and the countless bandages hiding gruesome wounds. Blinking harshly at the stinging in his eyes he reaches for the bucket.</p>
<p>“Keep him upright, Tim.”</p>
<p>He empties a bit of water over the boy’s head before he reaches for the soap. Bubbles don’t form underneath his hands as he rubs at the greasy hair, untangling knots with sharp tugs of his fingers.</p>
<p>“Should’ve done this himself.” He grumbles as he scrubs away the dirt, sweat and old blood clinging to the skin. He uses his left hand to shield parts of the bandages covering the worst of the wounds when he lets the water wash away the grime. “Guess he doesn’t like you all that much either if he shoved you off to me like he does his debts when we poker.”</p>
<p>Mother, who had been kind enough to teach him the rules, was also kind enough to hit Cross for his blatant irresponsibility.</p>
<p>Using a rag to wipe around a gash crusted with blood on the boy’s legs, he mimics Cross glower upon storming out earlier.</p>
<p> “I don’t like filthy things and he reeks! Go and clean him up, Allen. I’m not going to play nurse again for another brat.”</p>
<p>Allen wrings out the rag. Cross didn’t like him but that was to be expected. He knows from the time they spent together and Mother’s stories the only people his Master liked to have around were pretty woman and rich ones. Kids didn’t make it onto the list. Not even Tim, the golem he’d created did and Tim was lovable while Cross was full of pride for his own creations.</p>
<p>The boy was a different matter altogether. Cross wouldn’t stay in the room with him for long instead hurrying out with an excuse of being busy. When in the presence of the boy he’d keep his eyes on him at all times, watching every breath, every twitch with anticipation disguised as nonchalant disinterest.</p>
<p>Allen knew better because he observed. Every little detail. A survival instinct driven into him from his days on the streets.</p>
<p>Cross looked at the boy as if he were an Akuma in disguise, seconds away from breaking his skin to shot him. Allen couldn’t understand why. His eye didn’t react. His weapon didn’t burn in warning. The boy didn’t look like one of the souls Allen saw when he went out with Cross that one time but looking at him for too long did make Allen queasy.</p>
<p>Because all he saw was a painful reminder of what Mana had wanted mocking him. Dark hair in contrast to his now white strands of snow. Same height, seemingly same age. No ugly limb.</p>
<p>
  <em>“…Mana…”</em>
</p>
<p>But he still looked after him as much as he could. For Mana. Not as obsessive as he did a week ago where he wouldn’t eat if his food wasn’t bought to him and didn’t sleep until he collapsed from exhaustion. Even so he washed him, helped change his bandages and made sure to replace the cloth with a fresh one every few hours to keep the fever at bay.</p>
<p>Allen might exist to keep Mana’s memory alive but it didn’t mean he had to bend over backwards for this boy. He’d look after him because he owed it to Mana but as long as he stayed alive Allen would consider his job done.</p>
<p>
  <em>Even if it’s a pain…</em>
</p>
<p>Shaking his head to clear it of his thoughts Allen reaches out towards the boy’s face, brushing away wet bangs to tug them behind one of his ears. The stiches at his right brow were crusted with blood, a dried trail leading down to the faint yellow bruise on his cheek.</p>
<p>He drops the rag in the brown tinted water when cold fingers wrap around his wrist and squeeze. Hard.</p>
<p>“What—”</p>
<p>Wincing when pain shoots through his arm the rest of Allen’s shout dies in his throat when he looks up and sees a pair of wide eyes staring at him.</p>
<p>Wild and startled and familiar. So achingly familiar Allen forgets how to breath as their gazes hold each other, neither breaking away. His bones protest at the rough treatment of nails digging into his skin. The boy’s eyes roam over his face, resting on his scar, on his hair before they dart down to look at his wrist and his face morphs into an expression Allen knows all too well. Horror fills his eyes and Allen squares his jaw, tugging against the hold because he’s not too fond of what comes next.</p>
<p>
  <em>“Monster!” </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>“Freak!”</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>“Demon!” </em>
</p>
<p>Always the same reaction. Allen doesn’t want to hear it. Except—</p>
<p>“…Innocence…”</p>
<p>—there’s no fear. No screaming and cursing his existence. Nothing aside from the boy spitting out the word like bad food as his grip loosens and he lets go of his wrist as if burnt to fall headfirst into the water.</p>
<p>“Hey! Hey, you can’t go to sleep in here, you’ll drown!”</p>
<p>Allen hauls him upwards by the shoulders trying not to panic as the head hangs limp, water dripping all over the place as he rises to his feet. Tim tries to help using his wings to carry some weight and Allen pulls him backwards, tripping as he lands on his backside arms full of a wet ragdoll.</p>
<p>The door slams open.</p>
<p>“What the hell are you making such a ruckus for, brat?”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>My brain: What if Nea was there from the beginning of the story? What if he meets the other Exorcists and slowly learns how to trust again while starting to care for them despite trying not to with every fiber of his being because they're everything he hates (human and Innocence) and he knows it won't end well for him when they learn he's a Noah and Allen finds out who exactly the Earl is.</p><p>Also my brain: Gotta write Cross adopting Allen without the threat of becoming a Noah hanging over his head, who adopts Nea who keeps acting like a hissy cat and them being a family for once. Add the Order and Noah for potential family drama like a divorced couple fighting over who gets to keep the children.</p><p>My conscience: You have SCHOOL WORK TO DO. GO THE FUCK TO SLEEP.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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